


Impressions of You

by Brynncognito, rayvanfox



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynncognito/pseuds/Brynncognito, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is suspicious. Not only that, he's outright curious. Steve's always been a little touchy about his art, and a little particular about who he shows it to, but he's never hidden an entire sketchbook from Bucky before. </p>
<p>Or, Steve Rogers fills an entire sketchbook with pictures of Bucky, and Bucky finds it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressions of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is not our first fic together, but it is the first we've finished. There are a couple WIPs, one of which is for the Big Bang in August, and plenty of other ideas in the works.
> 
> Here's to a hopefully long and productive co-writing relationship!
> 
> Many thanks to our betas bootsnblossoms and sunshineandkitties on tumblr.

Bucky is suspicious. Not only that, he's outright _curious._ Steve's always been a little touchy about his art, and a little particular about who he shows it to, but he's never hidden an _entire sketchbook_ from Bucky before.

“The hell’s in that thing, anyway?” Bucky's aiming for off-hand, but Steve still stiffens slightly in his peripheral before proceeding to stuff the sketchbook into his satchel.

“It's nothing. Just some — stuff I'm workin’ on.”

Bucky's not convinced, but although he frowns, he lets it go. Steve will probably get over his sudden shyness or whatever this is and show Bucky once he's done with it.

A couple days later, though, Steve's still working in that damned mysterious sketchbook. He's been spending an awful lot of time drawing lately, and Bucky's sick of Steve subtly closing it every time Bucky drifts too close.

The _real_ pain in the ass is that Steve's still willing to share stuff from his other sketchbooks, though Bucky's noticed he's been tearing pages out to stuff them loose leaf into the mystery book. He's pretty sure it isn't any kinda present for him Steve's working on, ‘cause Steve would just _say_ if that was the case. Bucky's always been good about backing off when someone’s trying to surprise him.  

So now, Bucky's got a self-imposed mission. Their tiny tenement doesn't have much in the way of hiding spots, and Bucky's pretty sure Steve doesn't take the sketchbook with him every time he goes to his job at the corner store. Steve might not forgive him if he does this, but Bucky has _got_ to know.   


~~~  


Steve’s been on edge all afternoon. His fingers are twitchy and he keeps playing with the pad of paper on the counter. It’s there for customers to use, but he keeps co-opting it and tapping the end of his pencil on it, trying to decide what to draw.

That’s where the edginess is coming from; he wants to draw but he doesn’t want to be _seen_ drawing. It’s been driving him up the wall all week — longer, if he’s honest with himself. The problem is he wants to draw Bucky. And lately, that is _all_ he’s wanted to draw.

His best friend has gotten more and more beautiful as they’ve grown up, and now that Steve’s skill is almost up to the challenge of capturing that beauty on paper, he can’t stop trying. It’s getting a little ridiculous, and he knows it’s a horrible idea to give in to an obsession like this when he’s actually sharing a tiny living space with the source of his obsession, but he can’t fucking help it. If he could stop himself, maybe he wouldn’t be so fucking antsy all the damned time.

But stopping himself is half the trouble. Because really, there’s a simple solution to this whole idiotic situation: Steve could just find a way to _get off_ more often. If that could happen, then he wouldn’t be so edgy, _and_ he might even stop obsessing over his gorgeous best friend.

Problem is, dames won’t touch Steve with a ten-foot pole, and it’s the most humiliating thing to jerk himself off in the shower when Bucky’s shaving in the mirror three feet away. And the whole point of this is to _avoid_ humiliation.

Hence, trying to keep his drawings — and his obsession — a secret.

He manages to get through the rest of his shift without biting anyone’s head off, and with only one overly detailed sketch of Bucky’s bare shoulders and neck. Squinting at it, he decides it’s not _too_ obvious how much he wants to touch, well, all of it — all of him. _God dammit, Steve. Lay off._ Not only is it illegal to ever do anything about this little stupid obsession, apart from draw it, it’s also the last thing Bucky, mister lady’s man, would ever allow.

Steve clearly needs a hobby — or a distraction that isn’t his roommate.

He stomps up the rickety stairs to their apartment and lets himself in the back door. Then he drops his satchel on the tiny kitchen table and kicks his shoes off, shoving them under a chair. If Bucky’s not home yet, maybe he can jerk himself off to that one really good sketch he did on Sunday and take a quick shower before he has to figure out what the hell they’re going to eat for supper. 

He rounds the corner from the kitchen to the bedroom, heading right for the hiding place of the forbidden drawings. Then he swings the bedroom door open wide, and there’s Bucky sitting on the bed, paging through his sketchbook — the one full of Steve’s drawings of _him._

“Ffffuck,” Steve hisses, stopping dead still. He’s torn, unsure whether to lunge forward and snatch the book away or back out of the room and run down the stairs into the street, probably never to come back. It would be better for everyone, most likely. “Look, Bucky, I...”

Brow furrowed in concentration, Bucky doesn't even look up at first. When he does, there's an expression on his face that's hard as hell to read. It at least doesn't _look_ like he wants to punch Steve's lights out, but Steve's also pretty sure his obsession is impossible to miss. He'd drawn an entire _book_ full of Bucky, after all.

“Steve, you…” Bucky's apparently just as much at a loss for words as Steve is, and Steve’s face basically bursts into flames, it’s so hot. He’s never been so embarrassed in his whole life — and that’s saying something. But Bucky shakes his head a little as he sets the sketchbook carefully aside and finally gets to his feet.

_Shit. Scratch that not getting punched thing._ Steve backs up, and ends up bumping into the door frame. He knows how this goes, he’s been in enough fights to remember to defend the most vulnerable parts, and he instinctively hugs his lower ribs, shielding his gut. His face doesn’t matter any — he didn’t start out much to look at, so it’s no great loss.  

“I know, I’m sorry, I just...” He can’t go on without incriminating himself, and he feels like the worst person ever. So, he just stands there, looking down at the floor, watching where Bucky’s shifting his weight in the hopes of anticipating the inevitable blow.

Bucky pauses, and he's silent long enough Steve sneaks a peak at his face. He looks strangely _vulnerable_ of all things, and a little wounded. Hurting Bucky's feelings is the last thing Steve had thought would happen, and now he feels like he’s let Bucky down as a _friend,_ which is the worst thing he can think of. If it would help, he’d apologize until he ran out of breath.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, and this time his tone’s softer than Steve's almost ever heard it. He finally moves in, taking his time with it, and gently cups Steve's wide-eyed face between his hands.

“Why the hell didn't you ever say nothin’? Jesus…”

Every bit of defensiveness Steve has ever felt just falls away in the face of Bucky’s tenderness, and Steve knows saying something like ‘about what?’ would be the stupidest move he could ever make. But admitting something like this is still harder than anything he’s ever done — even to his best friend who clearly cares for him enough not to throw him out for his transgressions.

He swallows painfully and makes himself look up into Bucky’s beautiful eyes to say, “How could I? I’ve got no right.”

Bucky lets out a noise that sounds halfway pained and halfway frustrated, then he leans forward and kisses Steve before he can even figure out that's what's happening. His lips are uncertain and impossibly soft.

Steve’s brain has disengaged, so he’s got an excuse for not having any idea how to react. This was never an option for an actual real-life scenario and to have something he’s imagined a thousand times really happen is just...

_Fuck._ When someone kisses you, you’re supposed to kiss back, right?

He finally leans into Bucky’s touch, but it’s too late. Bucky’s pulling those perfect lips away. His first real kiss and he muffed it. Steve tries not to whine at the unfairness of life, then licks his lips and clears his throat to say, “What... What was _that_ for?”

Bucky looks worried as hell, like he's afraid he's messed something up. He's already moving away, clearing his throat and averting his gaze.

“I just… When I saw all those drawings I thought — Fuck.” Bucky's hand moves to his hair, smoothing it back, and he's still not looking at Steve. “Look, if I misread things, I… We can forget that ever happened.”

“No, wait.” Steve really needs to get his brain back into gear because nothing’s making sense. And everything’s slipping through his fingers.

He steps forward and catches Bucky’s sleeve, and he just starts running off at the mouth. “I don’t wanna forget that. Best millisecond of my life. I been drawing that mouth for close to a decade and finally knowing what it _feels_ like is just...” He trails off, certain he’s said too much. The sketches are one thing, his lustful thoughts are quite another. He says a prayer of thanksgiving that no matter how much he wanted to, he never gave in to drawing Bucky’s cock — at least, he never was tempted to _keep_ those pictures instead of burning them shortly after finishing.

Bucky's expression finally clears as Steve stops speaking, and a small smile actually creeps onto his lips. The same lips that had just been on Steve's. _Jesus._

“Close to a decade, huh? Punk, you shoulda said somethin’ sooner.” He's relaxed and teasing now, and he soon moves into Steve's personal space again as he keeps talking. “Wanna give that kissin’ thing another try?”

“You...” Steve’s hands slide up Bucky’s arms to his shoulders without his say so. He’s so damned strong it makes Steve’s knees a little weak. “You really wanna kiss _me?_ ”

Rather than actually respond, Bucky just rolls his eyes and leans in again. This time he's a little more confident in the way he kisses Steve, and a little less chaste. And Steve grabs tight hold of Bucky’s shoulders as his legs actually give out on him for a moment. The slow slide of lips, the hint of teeth, Bucky’s hot breath in his mouth, all of it is _so much_ to process, and Steve feels like he’s fallen into a dream.

This doesn’t happen to him. No one ever wants him like this. He can’t get enough of Bucky’s mouth, and he’s sure the kiss will end soon when Bucky comes to his senses or lets Steve in on the joke, and the stab of lust in his gut takes his breath away, and...

_Shit._ He can’t catch his breath.

He pulls away, wheezing, trying to get enough air to say, “Sorry, sorry. I’m fine.”

Bucky pulls back just a little, brow furrowed in concern. He holds Steve's face gently in both hands.

“You're okay, baby doll. I got you. Just breathe with me.” It's just like any other time Bucky's helped him through an asthma attack, only this time Bucky's just _kissed_ him. And when the hell did that become a thing that happened? More importantly for Steve’s sanity — and the state of his heart — would it be a thing that kept happening? Would he have an attack every time? Because if so, that’s possibly the most unfair thing he’s ever heard of.

Thinking like this isn’t helping him calm down, though. He concentrates on Bucky’s hands on his face and matches breath with him. One hand drifts from Bucky’s shoulder to his chest, right over his heart, and the other covers Bucky’s hand on his chin. He closes his eyes and feels those points of connection, and even as his heart aches for this to be real — not a game or a joke or a dream — he’s able to relax enough for his breath to come back. He nods, saying, “I got it. I’m fine. Thanks, Buck.”

Some of the concern finally leaves Bucky's face, and the lines in his forehead smooth out for the most part.

“Maybe I shoulda given you a little more warning,” he teases, but he's smiling as he presses his forehead to Steve's, even if a little worry lingers in his gaze the way it always does after one of Steve's asthma attacks.

“I still don’t even know what’s happening,” Steve says, taking one more gulp of air practically from Bucky’s lips. “You wanna be nice to me because you figure out I’ve held a torch for you for so long? I appreciate it, Buck, but you don’t have to.” Better to know now what this is than to delude himself and let his obsession get even worse.

Bucky scowls and pulls back again, though he keeps his hands right where they are. Then he turns his eyes heavenward and sighs loudly.

“Steve Rogers, you're a damn fool sometimes, you know that?” It's apparently a rhetorical question, because he keeps right on talking. “If I gotta spell it out for you, _fine_. I'm in love with you, and I have been for years. So shut up already, Jesus.”

“You... me... what?” Steve hears the words, and he understands them, in a literal sense, but he doesn’t _get_ this. Bucky’s never been in love with anyone. Steve has spent years assuming his best friend just doesn’t work that way. And here, all this time, he’s been...

Steve shakes his head. “But, all those dames...?”

Bucky lets out a laugh that's got a slightly bitter edge to it.

“All those dames were partly me tryin’ to deny what I was feelin’ for you, and partly me tryin’ to distract myself when that didn't work. Not that I was ever all that successful at distracting myself from how I felt — _feel_ about you.” Bucky pauses, while Steve's still reeling from the impossibility of what’s being said, and his lips quirk into a smile again. “None of ‘em ever meant much, and I think they knew it, even if they didn't know _why_.” 

For a brief, hot second, Steve is nothing but sheer anger over those poor girls, falling for Bucky and being doomed to never be loved by him. But then the possibility that he, Steven Grant Rogers, might actually avoid that same fate blossoms in his chest, filling it with warmth and lightness and... is that joy?

_Jesus Christ._

This is the one thing in his miserable, principled, self-destructive, hopefully ultimately noble little life that he never once believed could happen. Fellas don’t fall for other fellas, and if they do, they’re punished for it. But this...

Bucky actually wants this. He just said the damned “L” word. He’s thought about his feelings and come to terms with them and, and —

“Wait. What took _you_ so God damned long to say something?”

Now Bucky's laughing more genuinely, a grin on his face that could light the damn city it's so radiant. For a moment, Steve wishes he had his pencil in hand and his sketchbook on his knee. Then he decides having Bucky in his arms beats a drawing in his book by a long shot.

“Figured you could do better, and I didn't even know if you _liked_ fellas that way.” A shrug, and his smile gets a little self-deprecating.

“Buck, there’s no one on this _earth_ better than you,” Steve asserts, and he pulls Bucky close in a tight hug.

“You're full of it,” Bucky mumbles against the side of his head, but he's still squeezing him just as tightly in return.

“I mean, maybe,” Steve says with an amused huff, unable to let go of Bucky even if the hug has gone on too long by now. “But not about this. And I should know, since I’ve lived with your punk ass for so long.” He knows how this works, too. Bucky doesn’t take compliments unless they’re sarcastic or backhanded.

Bucky lets out another soft chuckle, barely audible and mostly felt as a puff of warm air against Steve's neck.

“Yeah.” After a moment longer, Bucky's finally the one to pull away from the hug, but he doesn't go far and can't seem to take his eyes off Steve.

“So I know we can't-- date, not really, but are we a thing now? ‘Cause I'd kinda like that. Bein’ your fella.”

For a second, Steve's sure he's gonna have another asthma attack, or that his heart has decided to give out on him. Or both. Not in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined Bucky saying those words to him. Even when he’s been weak enough to wonder what might happen between them if things ever went that direction, he couldn't bring himself to think Bucky might actually want something like this. It's mind-blowing. Again. Like everything else this evening. _Christ._

He shakes his head to knock that train of thought right out, and sees Bucky's face fall ‘cause he's probably assuming that means no. _Shit._

“No, honey, I mean yes. _Yes_ , I want you as my fella. Or to be your fella, or however that works. I want you so bad I can't draw anything else but you, obviously.” He waves in the direction of the forbidden sketchbook on the bed, his face flushing once again in embarrassment.

Bucky's expression quickly clears again, and now that gorgeous damn smile is back.

“Yeah? Good. ‘Cause that's what I want too. And if I could draw I’d probably have a _couple_ sketchbooks of your pretty face.”

Steve isn't about to tell Bucky about the reams of paper he's used up on shitty drawings of him. This sketchbook only has the good ones — the recent ones that actually look like him. Instead he snorts, amused, and says, “You'd have to have a really good imagination, then, and a lot of talent, to make me look pretty.”

There goes Bucky's smile, again. _Dammit_. He's outright scowling now.

“Steve Rogers, you better shut your mouth, ‘cause you are the prettiest, most handsome fella I've ever laid eyes on. And I mean it.”

Steve's jaw drops open, and he can't help feeling offended on Bucky's behalf. “Don't you ever look in the God damned mirror, you jerk? Why do you think I burn half of my attempts at sketching your fucking face? They don't come close to your beauty. It's infuriating.”

Bucky just smiles and shakes his head, before he gets an almost mischievous look on his face.

“So exactly how much _have_ you drawn me, Stevie? ‘Cause there's a lot just in that sketchbook, and it sounds like that ain't all of it…”

_Shit._ “Look, it’s not...” It’s not what? Creepy? Because it kinda is, if he thinks about it too much. “I know your face better than I know my own, Buck. And, well...” He takes a deep breath and shrugs like an idiot, trying to hide his nerves. “I _like_ your face.”

Bucky's grinning fairly wickedly by the time Steve finishes talking, and he backs Steve up against the wall with a hand on either side of his head.

“Yeah? Ever draw anything _naughty_ of me, sweetheart?”

Heart rate already through the roof because of Bucky’s proximity, Steve isn’t sure he’ll survive this line of questioning. He flushes even hotter than before and can’t look Bucky in the eye to answer. Instead, his gaze gets caught on Bucky’s lips, pink and wet and fucking perfect.

“I...”

He closes his eyes to focus and not make a complete ass of himself. That is not the way to start a relationship, if that’s really what is happening here. “You know I’ve seen you naked before, Buck. And you’re just so pretty — all of you...” Wincing at how stupid he sounds, he opens one eye to gauge how badly he’s fucking this up.

But Bucky's just grinning, before he leans in to peck Steve on the corner of the mouth.

“Might have to show me some of those drawings someday. Or maybe I'll let you draw some new ones,” Bucky all but purrs right into Steve's ear.

“I burnt them, but...” Steve’s words trail off into a tiny moan accompanied by a shiver at Bucky’s mouth, _so close_ to him. The thought of being able to actually draw Bucky _nude_ short-circuits his brain. Let alone the possibility of touching him, too.

“That would be...” He can’t believe he’s asking this, but fortune favors the bold, right? “Um, how about right now? Maybe?”

Bucky just grins, wide and damn near blinding in its brilliance.

“Whatever you want, baby doll.”


End file.
